


Runnin' Down a Dream

by bar2d2s



Category: The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Florida, I feel like that's a warning in itself, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 15:30:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11466423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bar2d2s/pseuds/bar2d2s
Summary: Interesting sunglasses, bad fake IDs, cheap ice cream, black ops government missions. Owen's gotta work before he's got the time off to play.





	Runnin' Down a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> They say write what you know, so welcome to a fic set in my shitty state. The entire top-west side of the state (aka the panhandle) is pretty much home to Florida Man and Florida Man alone, so I try not to go there.

They're way down south, far away from Keystone City, and it's amazing. A little too hot and muggy to be comfortable, and he’s had to ditch his long sleeves when he’s not on the job, but still. Amazing.

Axel got them a motel room that was just above condemned, with the entire building's sole redeeming factor being its pool. You couldn't stay somewhere in Florida and not have pool access. It was practically in the Bible. 

Not that Owen remembered much about the Bible. 

The job he was doing for the Squad placed him far away from the sticky glamour of Miami, far from the innocent joy to be found in Orlando. He was in some small, shitty town on the panhandle, right along the gulf coast. Axel had said something about a Pensacola road trip when he was done, hit the beach in style. He's sitting in one of the deck chairs by the pool, eating a buck-coconut pop he bought from the ancient ice cream truck that rolled down the street at the same time every day. Axel's got on star-shaped sunglasses and a neon blue tank top that says #sunburned, and Owen can't remember the last time he was this excited to ruin someone's day. 

 "Time for work, baby. Be back soon." 

Owen doesn't like reading the names of the people Waller sends him after. The less he knows about who these people are, the less he cares if he accidentally takes off an earlobe, or a hand. Rap sheets though, he reads. Past crimes can tell you a lot about a person. Some people do things because they’re desperate, like a single parent running drugs to be able to afford to take their kid to the doctor, and then there were the scum. His mark today is scum. 

Child trafficking. He'd been hopping around the States for ages, picking up state-fostered kids that no one would miss. Owen had been one of those kids, once upon a time. He knew from experience how long a kid could be missing before someone, anyone noticed. 

It ended today, in a Walmart parking lot of all places. 

Target acquired. His arm whips back. The release. Target neutralized. Didn't even need Lawton breathing down the back of his neck for this one. Now all he's got to do is bag and tag this slippery bastard before the Feds who'd been tailing the guy since he left Tomahawk, Wisconsin got to him, and it was job over. 

“Knock knock.” He sing-songs to Waller the second he has the guy stashed in the bed of his pickup, arms and legs zip-tied together like Nightwing had taught him. “Guess who’s ready to go home.”

"There's a bird incoming for him." She means Flag, probably. Guy didn't like him much, but he at least trusted him not to fuck up too severely. He keeps telling Owen that he doesn’t take their work seriously, that he plays too much. Waller doesn’t like to play with him. She’s tough, and no-nonsense, and he really respects the hell out of her, even if it’s hard to remember that sometimes. Shit, he’s technically violating his parole in a major way right now, being out of state with a known costumed criminal, and the only thing she says before she lets him go to wait out the plane is "Don't do anything stupid," and that's Waller's way of telling him he's got five days at best before they come calling again, so he'd better get his ass moving. 

Axel's waiting for him with his gear stowed in a backpack and a new pack of nicotine gum when he's done with his report to Flag, because Axel will not sit in an enclosed place with him while he smokes. He’s been trying to blow a bubble the size of his head, but the off-brand Bubble Tape he’d found at a mini-mart kept breaking. He smiles big around his bubble, just as it pops again, and the look on his face as he tries to scrape pink goo off of his nose and cheeks is out of this world. And now all Owen wants to do is get as far away from Fuckall Nowhere, Florida as he can, because he's got a fake ID proclaiming that yes officer, his name is Owen Harkness and he's 25. He's got a pretty boyfriend (with the world’s worst fake that insists his name is Charles Explosion and that he’s 22, and if that’s what gets them arrested in Pensacola, they’re breaking up) that's been dying to see him for weeks, that's wearing his hair ungelled and frizzy in the humidity as he pointedly snaps tiny bubblegum bubbles as loud as he can. 

"Come  _on_  O, Florida is stupid huge and we got like three hours before we hit civilization again." An exaggeration, but then again, Owen only counted a place as being part of civilization if it had at least one Wawa in walking distance, so he hadn't been out of the sticks in  _months_. 

It's when they're back in the car, an ugly old pickup that Axel had clutched his chest and whined at when he'd first seen it last week, that Owen really looks at his boy. He hasn't really  _stopped_  looking at Axel for the past four days, because it had been over three months since he'd seen him last, but now that they're on the road, he's actually got some time to observe. 

Axel's got curly hair, unless he brushes it out right after he washes it. It's thick enough that if he wore it longer, it would probably hang straight, but he loves the look and feel of the shaved sides too much. It's curling around his ears now, and Axel absently pushes it behind his ear as he gives up on finding a decent radio station and pulls out his phone, scooting back to put his feet up on the dashboard as he scrolls through his playlists. Axel's got flip flops on, and the sight of his sparkly blue toenails are the biggest sign of trust the younger man has ever presented him with. The shoes, the weapons, hell, everything that makes them  _Captain Boomerang_  and  _the Trickster_  is stowed in the back, will be stashed away somewhere safe during their entire vacation from 

Then Tom Petty blares through the speakers and he guns it, screaming down the highway as Axel throws one arm out the window and laughs.


End file.
